


the way from here

by eversall



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Minor Isabela/Merrill (Dragon Age), Minor Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, just loosely connected holiday fluff tbh, purposefully vague modern thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21883603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversall/pseuds/eversall
Summary: Hawke grins. “Kirkwall is going to look beautiful. You’ll like it, trust me.”Hawke is right. Fenrisdoeslove it - tiny snowflakes drifting down, catching on Hawke’s eyelashes and beard, and the look in Hawke’s eyes as Fenris, emboldened by too many cups of Hawke’sverystrong mulled wine, reaches out and brushes a snowflake off of Hawke’s cheek.  Kirkwallisbeautiful like this, with Hawke by his side. Anywhere would be, Fenris thinks..
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	the way from here

**Author's Note:**

> this is my gift for[ jess ](https://actual--trashpile.tumblr.com/) from the dragon age discord secret santa exchange. (it's a super cool server, started by raz, find her link to it [ here ](https://dudewheresmynug.tumblr.com/post/189729273631/hey-everyone-listen-up)) jess pls enjoy my attempts at writing holiday fluff with a side of slightly moody fenris!!
> 
> p.s. yeah this is thedas. yeah they still have americanos. no america doesn't exist here. i've made an executive decision and i stand by it.

.

The month of Cassus overtakes Hawke’s coffee shop with all the subtlety of a freight truck, and Fenris can’t do anything but stand in the doorway and blink for several long seconds at the explosion of red, white, and green currently enveloping the store. Merrill is wrestling with a light-up polar bear for one of the handmade wooden shelves, Carver and Bethany are idly cutting paper snowflakes and bickering, and Varric is sitting at his usual table with a tacky Santa hat on like nothing is out of the ordinary. 

Fenris begins to slowly back out of the store, but Hawke appears from the back like he’s been summoned, and beams at Fenris with a smile so wide that it stops him right in his tracks. 

“You’re just in time!” Hawke says, practically  _ wading _ through the copious amounts of tinsel that now cover the front counter. 

“Really?” Fenris asks, eyeing the way Merrill is dangerously teetering on her step stool and waving hello. “Because it looks to me like I’m too late to stop whatever happened here.” 

“It’s called the holidays, and I know you had those in Tevinter” Carver says, rolling his eyes. 

“And we Hawkes take it  _ very _ seriously,” Bethany adds,  _ also _ rolling his eyes. The twins are  _ insufferable _ together. 

“Come  _ on _ , Fenris, don’t be such a Grinch,” Hawke says, grabbing Fenris’ wrist and looking at him with wide, pleading eyes and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Sit down, have a cup of specialty Christmas blend coffee, and join me in welcoming the greatest month of the year.” 

Fenris raises an eyebrow. “That’s a lot to ask of me.” 

From somewhere in the back, Varric says, “I don’t think it was a request.” 

Hawke’s grin sharpens. “Oh, it wasn’t.” 

.

Amell Roasters Co. is a pretentious shop, and every shift Fenris works is filled with a healthy mixture of perfectly normal customers that order verbatim from the menu and customers from hell that order drinks with a mystifying degree of complexity. It’s always been that way, and Fenris has gotten used to it. 

What Fenris is  _ not _ used to is the holiday rush. The entire left side of the shop smells like peppermint, and the right side smells like gingerbread. He’s gone through more bottles of salted caramel than he did during the All Saint’s Day and Halloween rush, and his hands are covered in edible red and green glitter. There are screaming children in the shop with whipped cream smeared across their faces, and their parents are listing orders with an incredible amount of extra shots. 

“Merrill,” Fenris says calmly, holding on to the last bit of his sanity as he picks up the next cup, “this is just an order of espresso shots with toffee syrup and nothing else.” Merrill doesn’t even look away from the next customer she’s serving as she flashes him a thumbs up. Fenris groans, low in his throat, and gets to work. 

From behind him, he hears the blenders start up, along with a low humming. He smiles despite himself, and he lets the rest of the chatter of the shop fall away around him and focuses in on Hawke’s soft, surprisingly melodious voice. It gets him through a batch of drinks in a record amount of time, and when he turns back around from serving them he glances up and sees Hawke glancing back. 

Hawke immediately flushes red, and Fenris feels the warm glow of contentment inside of him grow as Hawke clears his throat. 

“Er, holding down the fort alright out here?” he asks. Fenris brushes past and gets to work on a tea latte. 

“Sort of,” he says. “You never told me the holiday rush would be like this.” 

“Are you crazy? Why would I scare away my best employee like that?” 

Fenris snorts. “You’re really going to say that when your brother and sister are right over there?”

Hawke eyes him. “You’re right, I should say it louder so they can hear.” He serves the whipped monstrosities he’s blended up and dunks the blenders in their sink, calling out, “Hey Bethany, Carver, neither of you are getting employee of the month! Fenris is!” 

“We don’t  _ have _ employee of the month!” Bethany yells from the back kitchen. 

“Dick,” Carver adds in a lower tone. Hawke’s expression grows sharper. 

“Oh, he better  _ hope _ no customers heard that,” Hawke says, frowning. Fenris shakes his head, laughing despite himself, and goes to make more drinks. He hears Hawke moving around behind him, taking care of iced drinks and refilling things, and they fall into a rhythm. 

Twenty minutes later, as the morning rush begins to die down, Fenris is shaking green glitter over a drink when Hawke says “On your left,” and puts a mug down next to Fenris. Fenris tops off the drink he’s working on and sets it on the serving counter before turning back and squinting down at the hot chocolate Hawke’s given him. 

“This...isn’t really my type of drink,” he says, confused. Hawke  _ knows _ Fenris only drinks black coffee, and  _ occasionally _ an Americano. 

Hawke winks, which does  _ devastating _ things for his face. Fenris can feel himself flush as Hawke says, “Oh, this’ll be your type. Trust me.” 

Fenris stares him down. “You put alcohol in it, didn’t you.” 

“I absolutely did.” 

“You’re getting me to drink on the job. I’m going to be fired.” 

Hawke steps closer, and Fenris can feel the heat from his body. Is this what moths feel like, trapped and drawn in by the light?

“You’re my favorite, remember?” Hawke asks, and  _ oh _ , if only it were true in the way Fenris wants.

.

It’s almost  _ impossible _ not to like Hawke. He’s funny, and charming, and  _ kind _ . He helps and random person that comes into his shop with a pitiful story, including escaped Tevinter refugee elves like Fenris who come with a perpetually bad attitude. He built back up the Amell coffee enterprise in Kirkwall through sheer determination and hard work, and he never seems to run out of patience. 

He’s gloriously imperfect. He drinks too much sometimes, and he’ll bottle up how he really feels about everyone dumping their problems on him until it’s too late and he’s yelling. He’s tired, though he never shows it to Bethany and Carver, and he’s petty sometimes. 

Fenris is pretty sure that this man, Garret Hakwe, is  _ it _ for him. He walked into Hawke’s shop nearly a year ago, soaking wet and on the run from shadowy Tevinter operatives, and he’d seen those blue eyes and an easy smile and he’d known, immediately, that things would never be the same for him. 

It’s almost impossible not to like Hawke. Liking Fenris, though? Liking someone with no future to speak of and too many fucked up memories to count? That’s the hard part. The  _ impossible _ part, it feels like sometimes. So Fenris is fine, really, with just being in Hawke’s orbit. That’s all he needs. 

But Hawke looks at him sometimes for a second too long, and maybe it’s the winter joy getting to him or whatever, but Fenris  _ wants _ , and he’s beginning to feel helpless at the thought that maybe - just maybe - Hawke might  _ want _ too. 

.

Varric’s apartment is usually very classy and full of improbably expensive things that people end up just  _ giving _ to Varric for ‘services rendered’. Fenris is still unclear on what these services are, but it’s Varric’s good graces that have kept him out of Tevinter’s reach for a whole year, so he usually doesn’t question it.

He does feel like he  _ should _ begin to question it when he walks into Varric’s place for a party and sees it overflowing with red and gold winter decorations. 

“You too, Varric?” he asks, handing off the wine he bought and shrugging out of his coat as he scans the crowd around them.

“You say that like you’re surprised,” Varric says. “Oh, this is a  _ good _ year. Where’d you get it?” 

The answer is, of course, Danarius’ secure storage shed that Fenris has managed to break into and now owns simply because Danarius is too cowardly to come and take it back himself, but Fenris isn’t about to tell Varric it’s stolen wine. He thinks Varric suspects, but doesn’t want to confirm. 

“Merrill,” Fenris says instead, catching the smaller elf as she waltzes right into him. 

“Oh, my bad, very sorry!” Merrill says rapidly, a smile overtaking her face. “Fenris, you’re here! Very good!” 

“I’m here. You’re...tipsy?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He lets Merrill link arms with him and guide him to the food table, Varric following them, and he rights her as she stumbles. 

“Oh, I had some of that mulled wine that Hawke brought. It was so good! Isabela is getting more and then she’s going to dance with me,” Merrill says in one breath, her gaze going dreamy as she talks about Isabela. 

“She was already dancing with you, Daisy,” Varric adds from behind them. Merrill’s gaze clears. 

“Oh, right,” she says. “Anyway, it’s good you’re here, Fenris!” 

“Alright. Why, exactly?” 

“Hawke’s been sulking without you,” Merrill informs him cheerfully. Fenris’ heart begins to do acrobatics in his chest and he tries to quell the sudden burst of longing. 

“That’s not true,” he says gently. “You’re getting drunk, Merrill.” Merrill frowns at him. 

“Drunk, not  _ stupid _ . Varric, tell him.” 

Varric holds his hands up. “I can’t. I was sworn to secrecy by Hawke.” 

Fenris does a double-take. “What did he swear you to?” he asks, morbidly curious. 

Varric shakes his head, smiling slightly. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?” 

Fenris exhales hard and scans the room again, looking for the man in question. 

“Oh,” a voice from behind him says, and he turns to see Aveline holding two glasses in her hands. “Hello, Fenris. Good to see you. Hawke will be glad to see you’re here, I think.” 

Varric briefly looks alarmed as Fenris slowly asks, “Hawke? Why?” 

“He’s done nothing but ask where you are all night long,” Aveline says briskly. “Put the poor man out of his misery, would you? I want to say he won’t wait forever for you, but I think he would. Excuse me, I’m just getting Donnic a refill.” And with that life-shattering revelation, she walks away. 

Varric sighs. “I’m not untangling this,” he says when Fenris looks at him. “Please try to enjoy my holiday party at least a little. I’ve ordered those little pastries you like for dessert.” 

“I - “ Fenris begins, but he spots Hawke at that moment, leaning against a wall and acting uncharacteristically reserved, staring down into his mug. He lets his gaze sweep over Hawke’s strong forearms and the soft grey sweater he’s wearing, paired with a pair of dark green jeans that should look tacky but don’t. 

Hawke looks up suddenly, his eyes snapping up and meeting Fenris’ across the room. Fenris isn’t given to flights of fancy but even he can’t deny that it feels like something bigger than just him when the rest of the room falls away and he sees nothing but the slow smile that overtakes Hawke’s features. Everyone else might as well not exist as Fenris drifts towards Hawke, meeting him halfway across the room. 

“You made it,” Hawke says with no small amount of relief. He smells like cider and wine. Fenris shrugs. 

“Had nothing better to do tonight,” he says, his voice coming out lower than he intended. Hawke chuckles, and reaches out to tug at Fenris’ scarf. 

“I hear that the first snowfall of the season is tonight,” he says. “You wouldn’t miss that, would you?” 

Fenris raises an eyebrow. “Would I? Is it special?” 

Hawke grins. “Kirkwall is going to look beautiful. You’ll like it, trust me.” 

Hawke is right. Fenris  _ does _ love it - tiny snowflakes drifting down, catching on Hawke’s eyelashes and beard, and the look in Hawke’s eyes as Fenris, emboldened by too many cups of Hawke’s  _ very _ strong mulled wine, reaches out and brushes a snowflake off of Hawke’s cheek. Kirkwall  _ is _ beautiful like this, with Hawke by his side. Anywhere would be, Fenris thinks.

.

The few classes he’s taking at the local college come to an end for winter break, so he occupies himself at the library between shifts at the shop, poring through books and idly wondering what exactly he’s going to do with his life. Dorian joins him one day, and as they talk in a private corner Fenris begins to glean that Dorian plans on heading back to Tevinter at some point. 

“Does Trevelyan...know?” Fenris asks. 

Dorian sighs and leans back. “Maxwell suspects, because he’s not a fool. I hope he doesn’t think he’s not enough for me.” 

Fenris thinks of the way Dorian looks when Trevelyan enters the room, the way his entire being shifts. “I doubt  _ anyone _ would think that. You look like a fool when you see him.” 

“That’s rich,” Dorian snorts, “coming from you. But I - Maxwell is unsure of himself, sometimes. Everyone is, at some point. But I have to do this,” he adds. “Maybe not right away, but within the next year. Things need to change in Tevinter.” 

Fenris doesn’t say anything to that, because there’s nothing he  _ can _ say to that. The Tevinter that Dorian can see is not the one Fenris is from, and he’s still not sure how he feels about the country that caused him so much misery. Krem gets it, sometimes, but even then - the country has chewed them all up and spit them out in different ways. 

“It’s nice to have a purpose,” Fenris offers instead, because  _ that’s _ what really worries him; that he’s drifting, aimless, and he’s going to waste away soon. He feels like he had more of a purpose when he’d enlisted in Seheron, and that’s saying something. 

“No it isn’t,” Dorian says immediately, and Fenris looks at him in surprise. “My  _ purpose _ is by Maxwell’s side. I’d be happy just following him around while he does very important things.” 

Fenris raises an eyebrow. “Then why don’t you? Why commit to going back to the Magisterium?” 

“Because it’s the  _ right  _ thing to do,” Dorian says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maker, what am I thinking? Leaving behind the love of my life?” 

“What  _ are _ you thinking?” Fenris asks. “You have everything you could dream of, Dorian.” 

He sounds bitter. He  _ knows _ he does, but - when he’d met Dorian first, he’d hated him, and then he’d felt like maybe Dorian was the one person in the world that understood what Tevinter was, even if it was from the other side of things, and then he’d seen how easily Dorian had gotten the love of his life and the whole thing had seemed unfair. It’s the same sharp stab of jealousy that he feels when he sees Merrill and Isabela, or Aveline and Donnic. Some things always come easier to some people. 

“Having everything you want is not the same as having everything you need,” Dorian says carefully. “Maxwell  _ is _ everything I could dream of, but I’ve finally become someone I can be proud of. It was a process. I’m finding my way.” 

Fenris sits back and closes his book. “Spit out what you’re trying to say, Dorian. Stop beating around the bush.” 

Dorian shrugs. “Is it so wrong if your way is running the shop with Hawke? You can find your way  _ here _ , Fenris. With him.” 

.

Isabela has taken to carry candy shanks around. Or, well, that’s not strictly true; she’s taken to carrying candy canes around, and whenever Fenris sees her she seems to be in the process of turning one into a shank and lazily threatening people with it.

“You’ll thank me later,” she says as she walks up to the counter during a lull in Fenris’ shift and prods a candy cane at his lips until he sighs and takes it, unwrapping it and sticking it in his mouth. He doesn’t like or hate candy canes, but the constant smell of peppermint in the shop is finally starting to get to him, and he finds that it satisfies a craving in him he didn’t know he had. 

“These are disgusting,” he says to Isabela even as he sticks it in his mouth and absently sucks at it while he moves around to clean the counter.

“You’re welcome,” Isabela replies to him, unperturbed. “Where’s my girlfriend?” 

“Out picking up a delayed delivery,” Hawke says, coming through the door. “Bethany’s out with her too. Where - “

Hawke stops and stares and Fenris, and Fenris stares back. 

“What?” he asks around a mouthful of candy cane. 

“I - “ Hawke starts, and then he stops again, making a helpless noise. 

“My work here is done,” Isabela says with great relish, and then she smiles and heads out the door. Fenris stares after her, puzzled. 

“You didn’t even do anything,” he calls out, taking the candy cane out from his mouth for a second. She doesn’t respond as she leaves, silver bells merrily ringing as the door shuts behind her. Fenris shrugs and turns back to staring Hawke down, sticking the candy cane back in his mouth and sucking on it. 

Which -  _ oh _ . 

Fenris isn’t stupid. His mind catches up to what exactly his mouth is doing and where exactly Hawke is staring at the same time, and he can feel his face flame red as he hurriedly takes the candy cane out of his mouth again and stares at it, betrayed. The look in Hawke’s eyes makes sense, suddenly; it’s dark and predatory with intent, but also a little helpless. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” Hawke says roughly, but the corners of his lips are curling up into a smile. Fenris is the one at a loss for words now, and he exhales slowly and then bites a corner of the candy cane off and chews at it instead, daring Hawke to say anything as he glances back up. 

“Fenris,” Hawke says suddenly, his tone serious. There’s no one else in the shop. When did everyone else leave? Fenris feels a lazy, warm kind of anticipation curl through his chest. “You…” he trails off, taking a step closer, eyes intent, and then the bells are ringing wildly and they both spring apart and look to the door to see Bethany and Merrill stagger in with trays of baked goods. The moment ends as Hawke gives Fenris one last, lingering look and then goes to help the others.

Fenris takes a shaky breath and then, feeling mutinous, sticks the candy cane back in his mouth and sucks. 

Hawke trips over a chair. It’s not his finest moment. 

.

It’s not that Fenris doesn’t have any holiday cheer - it’s more like he doesn’t know what holiday cheer even  _ is _ . This is the first year he hasn’t spent on the run, the first year since escaping Tevinter that he’s ever been in one place for more than a few months. Cassus used to mean frigid temperatures and a better survival plan as he tried to move towards warmer areas; now, he has an apartment with heating and he has to call it  _ Haring _ because nobody fucking speaks Tevene and everyone uses the common names for the months. 

What’s he supposed to do with all the joy people seem to have suddenly filled up on overnight? Even  _ Carver _ is suddenly nicer, and Fenris is beginning to feel that everyone is in on a big joke that he’s just not quite getting. 

Maybe Hawke pays as much attention to Fenris as Fenris desperately pays to Hawke and notices his discomfort, because the man in question invites himself over one night and brings an ominously large box of decorations. 

“This seems unnecessary,” Fenris says with no small amount of trepidation as he prods at the very lifelike reindeer statue in the box. “I like my apartment the way it is.” 

Hawke slaps Fenris’ hand away. “Don’t worry, I’m not giving you Rudolph. It’s for Bethany’s holiday party, and she’ll kill me if I give it away.” 

“Oh good. Bethany will have a party full of frighteningly realistic holiday dolls. It’s just what I’ve always wanted to see,” Fenris says dryly, and Hawke laughs. The sound is warm and inviting, and Fenris’ feels his whole mood lighten with it. “Hawke,” he adds, quietly, “you don’t have to do this.” 

Hawke forcibly shoves tape and a pair of scissors into Fenris’ hands and then grabs rows of fairy lights. “Do what?” he asks, avoiding eye contact. 

Hawke is many things, and he can talk his way out of any situation, but he isn’t good at lying to his friends. He’s never been good at lying to  _ Fenris _ . 

“You don’t have to try so hard to make me feel more welcome,” Fenris says, gesturing around the apartment with tape still in his hands. “I’m not going to die of loneliness because I’m not drowning in winter cheer.” 

Hawke snorts a little and starts to angle the lights at different positions on different walls, looking for a good fit.”I do have to do this,” he says firmly, and that sliver of longing that’s taken up permanent residence in Fenris’ chest aches. “And,” Hawke continues, “ _ you _ won’t die from having a little  _ extra _ cheer. Your apartment still looks like you unboxed the first ten Ikea products you saw and called it a day.” 

That had, in fact, been  _ exactly _ what Fenris had done, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t say anything more, helping Hawke tape decorations up with a minimal amount of snark. It’s true that there are no decorations to speak of on his walls, normally, but Fenris genuinely doesn’t know what he’d put up in the first place. The only things that matter - a picture of all of them at the Hanged Man, Merrill’s first attempt at making a pinch pot, the receipt from the first coffee Hawke sold him - are all tucked away in his nightstand. To  _ have _ things that matter to him - that’s all he really needs. To know that they’re there.

Still, the glittering tinsel and twinkling lights must do  _ something _ for Hawke, because he works at a feverish pace and has Fenris’ place looking like a toned down version of the coffee shop within two hours. There are festive lights hung around the room, and little bits of tinsel strung across various surfaces. Wreaths of muted brown and green hang on all the doors. Admittedly, it all looks nice, if unnecessary. 

Fenris eventually offers Hawke a bottle of wine, and they collapse back onto the sofa and pass it back and forth between them, staring at some holiday movie that Hawke puts on. Fenris is quiet for a while, just absorbing all of it, before he gives into his curiosity. 

“Why all this?” he asks, gesturing around at his apartment. 

Hawke turns to look at him, glowing softly from the new lights strung up on the walls. “What do you mean?” 

“Why are you - “ he pauses, and thinks of Carver and Bethany’s dedication to perfecting peppermint hot chocolate the past week. “Why is your family,” he amends, “so into the holidays?” 

“It seems perfectly normal to me,” Hawke says glibly, stretching his arms over the back of the sofa. His fingers brush Fenris’ shoulder, and Fenris’ traitorous heart leaps in his chest. 

“Hawke. Putting up a few decorations in your own home is normal. This is...not.” 

Hawke snorts, and then holds a hand out for the wine bottle and chugs a good amount. “My father,” he says after a moment. “He loved the holidays. The twins did too. So every time this season rolled around, he’d just...go crazy with it.” 

Fenris shifts on the couch, turns to face Hawke more fully. Something complicated is playing out across the shadows on Hawke’s face, something deep and loving and regretful. “Maybe it’s because we were cooped up in the middle of nowhere in Lothering, away from any other family we might have had, so he overcompensated or something. I don’t know.” 

“The more you talk about Lothering the worse it seems,” Fenris says, smiling wryly. Hawke meets his gaze and breaks out into a grin, the ghosts of the past escaping him for just a minute.    
“Aw, it wasn’t so bad. Lots of wide open space. No scheming political entities that we knew of.” 

Fenris holds up a hand and takes the wine bottle back. “That you  _ knew of _ . But get back to your increasingly sad story about this season.” 

“Oh it’s not  _ that _ sad,” Hawke says. “But you know, the twins took after him with that, and then we got to Kirkwall and the holidays came around and there was no one to jumpstart us into decorating like a possessed spirit. And Mother and Bethany looked so sad, and Carver seemed like he was about to go start a fight, and I just…” 

“Took over doing that for your family,” Fenris finishes. “Hawke…” 

Hawke shrugs. “I didn’t actually care about it at first. And the more I started to really go ham with it, the more I liked it. The decorating, the songs, the themed drinks. Doesn’t hurt business at the shop, either. But for that first year...Maker, I  _ really _ resented everything that led me to that role.” 

They’re both silent for a while, the movie still warbling on in the background. It’s  _ truly _ terrible.

“What  _ do _ you like?” Fenris asks suddenly. Hawke looks at him questioningly. “What do you  _ actually _ like about the holidays?” Fenris clarifies. “Not what your father and mother liked, or what the twins like. What do  _ you _ like?” 

Hawke looks taken aback, and he glances away, staring up at the ceiling and looking thoughtful. “I guess I  _ do _ like the themed drinks,” he says slowly. “I like the way people wrap things in lights this time of the year. And I like watching snow fall.” 

Fenris nods. “I like the wreaths you brought,” he offers up. “Truly, Hawke, this is all...nice,” he gestures around his apartment again. 

Hawke tips his head back and finally lets his fingers fully clasp Fenris’ shoulder, squeezing. “Yeah?” he asks, his smile small and private. Fenris takes a deep breath and shifts on the sofa, moving closer towards Hawke. 

“Yeah,” he says, and they keep watching the terrible movie. 

.

Merrill drags him out to a tree farm. Fenris stands around and stomps his boot-covered feet and tries to stay warm as he watches Merrill very seriously ponder tree after tree. 

“It can’t be too big. But it also needs some  _ heft  _ and  _ weight _ so we can decorate it. Oh, and it has to look a little funky too. Perfect trees have no personality,” Merrill says. “Fenris, what do you think?” 

Fenris makes an incredulous noise. “I think I’m not qualified to talk about this tradition at all,” he says. “I’m a little worried you chose to take  _ me _ .” 

Merrill laughs and turns around to face him. “Well, I did choose you, so now you’re qualified! Come  _ on _ , I know you have opinions on everything. I need this tree to be perfect so Isabela has a good holiday here.” 

“She misses Rivain this time of year?” Fenris asks, curious. Merrill shrugs. 

“It was warmer there, I think,” she says. “Snow’s only fun while it’s falling the first time.”

Fenris looks back at the trees surrounding them. “I’m surprised you want a live tree at all,” he says. 

“They smell nice,” Merrill says dreamily. “Do you want a tree for your place, Fenris? We can get a small one.” 

“I’m good, thanks,” Fenris says, amused as he watches a pair of tiny children throw snowballs at each other. He looks back towards Merrill when she’s silent for a moment too long. “What?” he asks, because she’s staring at him like he’s breaking her heart, her hands clasped tight. 

The question bursts out of her like she’s been thinking about it for a long time. “Do you like it here?” she asks in a rush.

Fenris tilts his head. “What?” he repeats, confused now.

Merrill steps closer. “I was just thinking about the trees, and I thought...it doesn’t seem like you’re putting roots down, at all. We’ve all tried to get you into the holiday spirit but you don’t like it! We want you to like it here. And...Hawke, you know.”

Fenris tries to parse slowly through the suddenly overwhelming amount of personal information. It’s a lot to take in, but it’s almost impossible to deny Merrill anything when she’s looking at him like this. 

“I -  _ am _ in the holiday spirit,” Fenris says awkwardly. “Don’t...worry about that. And I do like it here. I’m not leaving,” he adds, as he thinks about Dorian. Maybe this was what Dorian meant; what you need, as opposed to what you want. 

Right now, Fenris needs roots. And he has them. 

Merrill smiles. “As long as you’re sure,” she tells him. He pats her shoulder hesitantly, and is rewarded with a little giggle. 

“I am,” he says. Something else occurs to him. “Wait a minute.  _ What _ about Hawke?” 

“Hm?” Merrill asks, already gazing at another tree in the distance. “I think I’ve found the  _ one _ . Come on.” She tugs at Fenris’ arm, and he goes willingly. 

“Focus, Merrill,” he says. “You said something about Hawke.” 

“Oh,” Merrill frowns. “You both clearly like each other. I think he’s worried that if after a year you don’t like him back enough to do something about it, you might not like him at all.” 

“Well - that’s - “ Fenris is almost at a loss for words. “How does that make sense? If I clearly like him, how…?” he trails off, his chest constricting at Merrill’s words. Merrill suddenly stops and grabs Fenris’ arms, looking seriously up at him. 

“Fenris,” she says, “it’s not easy, I  _ know _ it isn’t. I went through this too, you know, figuring it out with Isabela. But Hawke knows you have a life you’re happy with here and he doesn’t want you to think that it’s conditional on being with him. He’s never going to ask, because he’s afraid of trapping you.” 

Fenris almost feels faint hearing that. “Wh - that’s not true.  _ Is _ it? How can that be true? I - no. Merrill,” he says desperately, “how could Hawke think that?” 

The look in Merrill’s eyes is a little sad. “You have to ask. You have to let him know that you’re here, and you’re staying, and you’re  _ choosing _ this.” 

.

It’s almost impossible not to like Hawke. It’s almost as easy and as natural as breathing, falling in love with Hawke. 

The harder part was always telling Hawke the truth - that he’d have followed Hawke to the ends of the earth, that he’d do anything now to keep Hawke smiling, that Hawke had him, all of him, even the vulnerable parts - if Hawke wanted. 

Because Fenris, at least, had  _ always _ wanted.

.

Kirkwall  _ is _ pretty like this at night, the bare trees on the street twinkling merrily with string lights and the snow piled in lazy drifts on the sidewalks. Amell Roasters Co. is still lit up though its closed, and Fenris can see Hawke putting up the last of the chairs. He takes a deep breath, feels the chill of the night air across his face, and then pushes the door open. The warm air and the smell of coffee washes over him and he closes his eyes briefly, soaking it in.

When he opens his eyes again, Hawke is hurrying over to him. “Fenris?” he asks, an easy smile overtaking his face. Fenris takes a deep breath and pulls his hand out of his pocket, carefully holding up the sprig of green mistletoe. 

“Garrett Hawke,” he says quietly. “Can I kiss you?” 

For one, breathless second Hawke stares at him like Fenris is the sun, and then he’s pitching forward and pulling Fenris to him in the same breath, crashing his lips to Fenris’ in an inelegant, desperate kiss. It’s close-mouthed, a little dry, unfamiliarly rough from Hawke’s beard, and it’s everything Fenris has ever wanted because he can feel Hawke’s heart going rabbit-fast under his clothes, and Hawke’s fingers trembling where he’s clutching at Fenris’ coat. 

“Fenris,” Hawke says, “ _ Fenris _ ,” his voice soft and hopeful and so, so fragile. 

“Hawke,” Fenris mutters back. Hawke laughs, breathless, then rests his forehead against Fenris’. 

“I’m in love with you,” Hawke says quietly. “I have been since you walked through that door for the first time.” 

Fenris’ breath catches in his throat. “That’s a long time,” he says. 

“Maker, that hardly matters,” Hawke says, nudging Fenris’ nose with his own. “I would have waited forever. You’re what I want, and what I need, and just - everything. You’re  _ everything _ .” He pulls back, and smiles with unrestrained delight. “And you went out and got  _ mistletoe  _ for this - you’re perfect.” 

Fenris laughs softly and smooths his fingers over Hawke’s cheeks, tracing the edges of his beard. The mistletoe is somewhere on the floor, dropped the instant Hawke’s lips met his own. “It was Merrill’s idea. Turns out, some of these holiday traditions are fairly interesting.” 

Hawke reels Fenris in closer. “Then maybe I should have started with that one instead of the decorations.” 

Fenris snorts. “We need to have a serious discussion about how much is too much. But,” he presses a kiss, lightning quick, to the corner of Hawke’s mouth. “I like the holidays with you. I like - everything with you. It’s not Kirkwall, or this shop - it’s you. You’re my home, and my future. If you’ll have me,” he adds as an afterthought. 

Hawke traces the lyrium brand under Fenris’ chin. “ _ Yes _ ,” breathes out, and then he’s meeting Fenris halfway again to kiss him, and Fenris feels something certain and purposeful settle in his heart, steady and strong. 

_ I’ve found my way _ , Fenris thinks.  _ He is my way _ . 

.


End file.
